meager
by okkaela
Summary: The differences in their lives brought them together, creating obstacles for them only looking to be faced against. It was centered around a world they could no longer understand, and they doubted whether they ever could to begin with. Yet, they were eager to, because the youth was looking to be spent. Miles/Maya centric, Miles/Maya/Chewy friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**i.**

by all costs

It wasn't by all means that she delved herself into the outer corners of her erratic mind, or by chance she conjured up a realm she had yet to understand, she figured it was just growing up. That the immense hurt she felt day to day was nothing short of a sixteen year old girl trying to spare herself of the sentiments that included shedding away her youth. She's but sixteen and all the world can bring her is a sense of injustice that shrouds her in a bed of self reliance. Maya Matlin was by all costs a trooper, but the biggest battle she had to face was getting up in the morning and vying for a meaning in the days.

Tristan wasn't speaking to her anymore, apparently months of her company no longer mattered to him. She couldn't blame him, although it did hurt when he said she was even too miserable for him, only just a bit though. He finally had enough after his big showcase debut and she was absent from any or all performances he was to be in. She didn't know how, but she blanked out too much and maybe she had been there, but not _really_ there, if that made sense. It sure didn't make sense to her. He'd be left to frolic in the praises everyone around him gave him, she wondered if he felt suffocated by it all, even if he had, he didn't show it much. It shocked her, how different this year was from the last, or the one before that, or the years before she was born. Those years must of mattered, because the ones since she was born, didn't matter at all. Tristan was happy, but he always did look at her with either concern or pity, either of which she couldn't put up with and it made her want to vomit right on the spot. But she had enough of a plague of given reputations that she thought adding to it would only make things worse.

That's how it always was, she assumed, playing with the food in front of her rather than eating it. Her appetite was always bad, this wasn't anything new. She failed to lsiten as her sister spoke of her college life, her mother fawned over her the new recipe she learned to make and even her father's tales about work that day. It was all such petty occurrences in their lives yet it made them so very pleased with themselves, and she was suddenly at a loss. When was the last time she felt so stupidly content with her life? An unsettling feeling made it's stay in her stomach.

The answer was never.

* * *

It was known he was made for great glory, his name setting the path for a well paved road ahead of him. It always did give him a sense of self control whenever he failed his father, those instances of pure impulse urged him to do what he was told otherwise. He loved it, it was the one thing he had total power over. Little did he know, he was staying quite comfortably in the role of self destruction, nonetheless, he was guilty of playing that role well. His first year at Degrassi was just the perfect setting for such a backstory, deluding the world he played in as nothing short of a flimsy back drop. This was the life of the rich and lavish, he felt sick with the very thought. He would never be able to escape it.

He never quite noticed Maya Matlin, sophomore year came as a blur to him and he only remembered the short moments of blonde crossing his view. She rejected him easily, and perhaps that was what cut his interest in her so short. She was a challenge, blame it on the upbringing, challenges weren't what he was exactly used to. So naturally he dropped her, just like that, and by the looks of it, he wasn't the only one. He was there when a certain Tristan Milligan made a show, like he always did, of a fierce battle of the two. Although it was rather one-sided, the look of indifference on the younger Matlin was clearly evident. He decided to go against his better judgement and stay seated at the table exactly five tables away from them, his feet were rooted to theg round. It was just his luck, he was a coward amongst the troopers, and he fled back.

He was worried he gave his thoughts away without much of a fight, by the concerned look in his best friend's eyes he paused in the fast pace life of Miles Hollingsworth to catch a much needed breath. The table was filled with the friends of Zoe Rivas, a girl he used once before and is rightly doing so again. She knew, she wasn't stupid enough to believe in fairytales, perhaps that's why he chose her instead of anyone else. They had that one thing in common, and that one alone. They were a bunch of troublesome teens, the lot of them, yet they'd rather hide that fact than bond in some abstract, chaotic way. He wondered when it would be the right time to show how he really felt, truly looked at the world.

His answer was the same as before, it was never.

* * *

And so, the two lived in the same plane as the rest yet meagered less than the rest. It was strange how the world could be filled with so many, but thrived by so little. They were caught by a monster and denied the right to live so freely as they did in their younger years, and this monster was fierce in nature but sly by touch. At first it was thought to be the very people inhabiting the world they lived in, but that was quickly shed away by the very way others lived without the care of others. Second, they thought it was the environment they lived in. Home life could be the worst, yet they managed to change the setting easily, so it wasn't that. But then it occurred to them, the one thing they'd never be able to ignore, never able to release themselves from. It was a cruel truth that they faced and no longer embraced, because your mind is a scary place, they thought.

He laughed at the thought, she cringed at the mention. He soared through the crowds, she avoided them all together. He was enthralled by the danger, she cowered in fear. Their differences made them stand out, but they thought it too crazy to agree with the factt hat they were so alike in differences. With that, they existed accordingly, stealing small glances at each other when they could, or more than likely, when they allowed themselves to. But it was only a matter of time before the secret glances they took was noticed by an outsider of it all and Winston was looking to understand it.

* * *

**[A/N] So after much debate on whether I'd actually write up a fic, I decided to finally put thoughts to paper and wrote up this story. I've got a pretty claer gist as to how this story will continue, and although it may take awhile, Maya and Miles will happen. Instead of rushing into that, I wanted to play around with their insecurities and mind sets for the time being. It gives you all, I hope, a new perspective of the two characters, or rather three because Chewy will be mentioned as well, because I love his character. It's a refreshing look at the three characters and that's what I'm aiming for. So although this has major ships included, it isn't focused on entirely that, it is an additive, but what I'm focusing on his the development of those characters and their outlook on life, which you can tell is very dull. **

**That being said, I hope you all enjoy this fic! Even if it is my first on posted, I've written fics before so please be easy on me with this. I hope you all enjoy this.**


	2. Chapter 2

**ii.**

**seamless **

What was it that made the world look like a strange array of colors, just begging to be coerced in a manner of free will? Maya couldn't put her finger on the answer. She decided it was the outlook of things at that age, now the colors just seemed to bleed into one another, and any or all originality ceased to exist. It was the very need to be like everyone else that made those colors dull, instead of vibrant reds or blues, they were now a mucky mixture of distant beauty. She was the outcome, the result of years building up to the loss of it all. Maya Matlin tried with all her might, but couldn't stray from the persuasive words sprawled out in front of her. In order to be like everyone else, she needed to act like them, little did she know, everyone was the exact disarray of muck.

Muck, she repeated the word in her head like a mantra. Her eyebrows creasing at the thought of it, who could've created a word like that? With such depth to it, or rather lack of it, would the meaning hold the same after the years to come? It wasn't as if any one could particularly ask who made it up, it was a death wish if only for an answer. Was the meaning the same all those years ago? She liked to think of the tragedy behind it all if it weren't, that the word 'muck' was used to define beauty and grace, nothing at all as how they used it now. She laughed dryly to herself, oh the irony. Classes seemed to drag on in Degrassi, but she knew it was the same in any school, Madam always gave her strange looks and it was boardline pity so Maya just looked away. Everyone knew of her spiral down towards being social, she just wasn't anymore. Anytime she did reach out, the idea either concaved over itself or the latter proved to misunderstand. It was a bother, she was a bother, so she simply decided not to be. And with that, she ceased to look for help.

She'd be going on her hands and knees begging for help later, if she was desperate.

Perhaps that's why the length of her dress seemed to shorten each day, or weeks, even months for that matter. What little attention she had, she never gave away. By the looks of the guys she passed by on the street, they loved it, or the basic idea of liking something, she didn't really believe in love. Love hurt, and it never stopped doing that to her. Time and time again she was brought into the office to be reprimanded for her choice of apparel, yet Mr. Simpson looked at her with knowing eyes and all she wanted to do was scratch his out, or maybe hers, or everyone's...her head hurt and so she put it down. Her studies still remained up to par, even with a minor stain before, but that's when she was fifteen and she was starting her rebellious phase. She didn't think she was in one anymore, just a forever of knowing nothing as to who she was. She was a stranger to herself._ Ah, it was me in front of the mirror this morning._

She knew the act she was playing, she hated the pity outwardly but secretly yearned for it. _Ask me what's wrong, mom. Ask about my day, dad. Please talk to me, please don't leave me in this godforsaken mind of mine. Please, please, please, please._

The only person who seemed mildly concerned was a certain boy sitting not two tables away from hers in class, he caught her eye and that made the guilty taste on her tongue burn ever so slightly. The worst part of it was the fact that she enjoyed it.

* * *

He imagined he lived in the era of the fifties, where everything and everyone were classy to a tee. Where there was meaning in the words he spoke and the money he made, he always felt a tad uncomfortable when people spoke of his wealth. First and foremost, it wasn't really his or his power crazy father for that one. His father inherited it, as he would when he reaches an age. That's only if he doesn't get disowned by then, he'd have his chances. Second, the life of the rich and famous wasn't so glamorous. Sure you've got people indulging in the area as if it's some taboo, but they never really understood it, they weren't the rich ones. He was, and he knew up close and personal how dangerous a world he lived in was. He was protected behind tall gates, and within mansion walls but the tighter the protection, it made him realize how completely vulnerable he was. It rattled his mind for the umpteenth time that day.

He tightened the knot on his tie, the pressure on his neck giving him some sort of relief. His mind cradled the idea of total paradise, but as he got home and loosened that very tie, he felt himself instead tightening it until the fabric snapped. He'd throw away that designer piece, there was always more neatly folded in his tie cabinet. He chuckled at the thought, but what came out instead was a strangled sob. Who needed a tie cabinet? What was the purpose? Any old, damned hunk of wood would do, but no, there was a need to make a cabinet specifically designed for ties. It was ridiculous, and he couldn't help suppress the cruel, mocking tone of his very mind. He noted the seams of the clothes he wore, with it's genuine cloth and other completely useless letters stamped on the suit. He questioned the little things, because all he could do with the big ones, was to ignore them. He had no set plan for the world, he wasn't going to use the money to save people everywhere. He couldn't even save himself, he'd be damned before he tried to play superhero for other people, knowing fully well he'd fail them. He already failed his father.

This damned hallway, he muttered. He didn't see the need for some many hallways, so many doors unoccupied, only empty air in the room that hung undesired by the inhabitants elsewhere. There was always somewhere to be, a place to see that was different from the rest but all he saw were dull, blurred lines and he had no taste for it. So he replaced the taste with the bitter liquor in his dad's cellar. It would make do, even if he had to go through all the hallways that reminded him of the very thing he lacked.

Life, wait, no, he meant a life to live. He figured it was the alcohol getting to him.

* * *

Winston stayed in the front line, but never once crossed into enemy territory. He made a job of viewing the world from his perspective. He watched as his best friend drank into a stupor, and wasn't surprised, but still very cautious. He listened as he raged about a war, a battle they had yet to face. Miles made him promise he'd fight on his side, but Winston just stared at him with a look of understanding and with that Miles shut his mouth until the next chug of the bottle. He never liked the spotlight, even if he would die trying to be in it. There were two things he learned from it, and two examples he used for it.

One, was of course Miles. He watched through the years as it beat him mercilessly and broke him down into a pulp before shaping up into a destroyed adolescent vying for an escape. That's what that kind of admiration and question brought upon Miles Hollingsworth. Yet, still, Winston would take the fall and break for the same spotlight. Because if you aren't known, you're forgotten.

He couldn't decide on which option was crueler than the other.

Second, was Maya Matlin. She was plagued with so much reputation, he wondered how the simple band geek found her way through it. But the answer smacked him so blatantly in the face, he had no choice but to embrace for impact. Campbell Saunders, MVP for, or rather former, the Toronto Ice Hounds. He cracked and he broke, and the break was too much. He supposed he could've used Campbell Saunders as an example, but he thought it was too inconsiderate to do so. She went from the girlfriend of the deceased hockey MVP, to slut before their very eyes. Winston sighed in thought, it wasn't as if it was hard to figure out what she was doing. She was coping, rather badly, but still coping. Though, everyone decided she was being so entirely rude, but rude to who? Saunders was gone, he wasn't there to embrace it, no, everyone here were left to. So he decided he'd keep quiet, but he was silently rooting for the blonde. It must suck, he thought, it really must.

And so he put two and two together, the secret glances, the totally cliche differences between the two. They were perfect for each other, in a way that they'd destroy the other. Now where does he come along? No where. He was content to stay right here, but there were only those two options and he tore himself to scraps trying to figure out which he'd run for.

So he ran straight, and he's still running.


End file.
